#self rb asdksgah

[cartwrights-old]

better* percabeth during the war

During the wake of the death of Silena Beauregard, the weather was perfect. The August evening was warm and grey skied, with small strokes of soft pink and fiery orange lining the skyline of Manhattan. Still, the remnants of today’s battle plagued the streets, rubble and rocks scattered across the roads, burning cars and sleeping mortals littering the sidewalks and gardens and basically all of the city. From the windows of the Empire State Building, Annabeth could see all the wreckage and death that the Titans had caused, it wasn’t exactly calming. She ran her fingers along the lining of the windows, as if hoping she could reach out and make things better, fix everything, fix the world. Annabeth exhaled, frustrated.

“Annabeth,” began Percy, from behind her, “what’s wrong with me?” Annabeth raised an eyebr. She met Percy’s eyes through the reflection of the glass, who was sitting on a leather office couch with his legs drawn up in front of his chest. Behind him, another leather chair and a shelving unit, storing books, a framed degree, and a collection of academic looking antiques and clutter, most likely the office of some rich New York executive. Despite the power radiating from him, the sheer anger and divine energy of the curse of Achilles, the hurricanes and floods that one could feel brewing inside him, slowly overflowing and begging to break out through his fingertips, Percy looked sad and overwhelmed and completely mortal. That was Percy, no matter how many times he saved the world or slaughtered an unbeatable monster, no matter how many girls fell for him or how many gods he earned the favour of, he was Percy, and would always be Percy. Laidback and wisecracking, and fatally self-conscious.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Percy,” Annabeth said softly. She took a careful breath, “Why would you think that?” Percy broke her gaze, his eyes darting to the floor. He stretched his arms out, straight and resting across his knees.

“I don’t think I can do this, I mean.” He took a few seconds before continuing, “Everyone looks to me to help, to lead, and to strategize, and win,” he tugged at his dusty hair, his head in his hands. “I have the world- and lives on my shoulders, Annabeth. But I keep failing.” His voice was broken and warbly, Annabeth had always thought of his voice as clear, it flowed like water, just as smooth and refreshing as the ocean, it was rare to hear him sound like that.

Annabeth turned to face him, an arm limp at her side, her other hand gripping her elbow. She let out an exhale through her nose, and ground her jaw. “Listen, Percy,” she said, joining him on the couch, “Silena Beauregard wasn’t the first casualty, and she’s not going to be the last. The thing is, sometimes, being a hero doesn’t mean you can always save everyone. Most of the time, it means you work to make what comes after them better. Stronger. For the people who come after those who were lost. Silena’s death was awful, she didn’t deserve to die like that. But she chose to save us.” she took a moment to study his eyes, the dark hair that tumbled down his ears and his sweat-stained brow. He looked at her with unwavering respect, as if she harboured all the wisdom in the world. She felt her face soften, Annabeth shifted, leaning on a perfectly straight arm resting on the couch. “And you can’t beat yourself up over that.”

Percy rose from the leather couch to gaze at the window, his arms crossed over his chest, “I don’t feel like much of a hero right now.” It was growing dark out in the city, small squares of left on lights dotting the buildings and skyscrapers on the Manhattan horizon, the only sign of life in the notoriously lively and energetic New York. The golden yellow light framed his dark hair and jaw, his green eyes looked almost hazel while bathed in the fiery glow. He looked awfully beautiful like that, she couldn’t help but think.

Annabeth grinned, “Well now you’re just lying to yourself.” She lifted herself up from the couch and joined Percy at the window, a flush creeping up her face. “You’re a hero, Seaweed Brain,” her fingers swept a lock of dark hair behind his ear. His eyes widened, his back snapped straight and his leg kicked up lightly. The edge of Percy’s lips curved into a smile, his face cocked to the side, leaning into Annabeth’s hand. His eyes fluttered closed. “Percy…” her voice faltered. Annabeth swore silently, her little schoolgirl crush on him really chose the worst time to evolve into real love.

She raised herself up onto her toes and pulled him into a hug, one hand hanging off his shoulder, the other wrapped around his back. She felt Percy smile into her neck and lay a hand onto the curve of her hips. “I-” Percy took a pause before continuing, “I should get to bed,” he muttered. Annabeth broke the hug, one hand settled across his exposed clavicle. She grinned up at him, Percy’s eyebrows were raised slightly, his lips parted. A face that was surprised, but pleased too. That expression split into his trademark troublemaker smile. “Man, Chiron was not kidding when he said the whole Achilles thing would be exhausting.”

Annabeth exhaled, her eyes darted to the ground, grinning. “Then I guess you should get to bed, I think the Demeter Cabin set up cots in the 30th-floor lobby.”

Percy let out a light smile, “Goodnight, Wise Girl.” And so he turned to the door and headed out to the hallway, to what would no doubt be a restless sleep filled with nightmares. But she had made him smile- forget, for a moment, about the war and death, terror and pain that today had been infested with, and that had to count for something. She was starting to think that her friendship with her Percy was something different.

But Annabeth didn’t have the time or strength to dwell on emotions, she was the daughter of wisdom itself, she had to be driven by logic. She followed Percy out the dark wooden door and headed to sleep, ready for a new day, maybe one that would go better than the last.